


Blasphemous

by anticyclone



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bad-mouthing archangels, Dinner, Drinking, Gen, Mentioned Gabriel (Good Omens), Missing Scene, Russian Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: Crowley probably shouldn't have accepted the invitation to dinner, but then he would have missed out on the earthly mother of the son of the Lord saying, "Between the two of us, the Archangel Gabriel's a total prick." And that would have been a real loss.





	Blasphemous

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Профанация](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408492) by [bangbangbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangbangbaby/pseuds/bangbangbaby), [WTF_Good_Omens_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Good_Omens_2020/pseuds/WTF_Good_Omens_2020)



What did you bring to dinner with the son of the Lord?

If you were Crowley, you brought wine.

It was a neutral choice. Crowley was not a neutral being but he was trying to pass largely unnoticed here. He hadn't spotted anyone else from his side of things around town. No one downstairs seemed concerned about this doomed kid yet. Demons weren't supposed to be curious. Soliciting invitations to wholesome family dinners wasn't on the checklist.

Free food, though, it would be strange to turn that down once offered.

Mary kissed him on the forehead after he'd been introduced. She had to lean up on her toes to do it. Some of her hair was left exposed by the scarf she'd pulled up. Crowley rather liked the look, actually. "Lovely to meet you."

"Crowley isn't from around here," Jesus said when he didn't immediately return the gesture. He briefly put his hand on Crowley's shoulder and motioned at the table. "Sit down, sit down."

They used the candle on the windowsill to light the candles on the table. Mary was pleased with the wine. There was fish and fruit. The entire house held a whiff of baking bread left over from that morning. It didn't feel very divine. It did feel lived in, like Crowley guessed a home was supposed to feel. The blessings stung a bit but were quickly washed away - discreetly damning wine being a skill Crowley had long since mastered.

The conversation went much differently than he'd anticipated. "It's been an unusual week," Jesus said, hesitantly, in response to his mother's inquiry.

"There was that strange triple-sun on Monday afternoon," Crowley put in. He'd gotten the sharp feeling of a miracle off the whole thing and was curious about what the point of it had been.

"Yes, I saw. What was all that about?" Mary squinted. It was the same expression Crowley had seen on a hundred mother's faces when grilling their children about something suspicious.

Jesus swallowed a bite of fish. "I had a visitor," he said.

One of Mary's eyebrows shot up. "Again?"

"They're curious about me, I guess." Jesus was looking sideways at him.

"Who?" Crowley asked, picking up a date.

"Ah." Jesus looked at his mother, who was no help. He looked back at Crowley. "Sometimes I receive visitations of angels."

"Do you?" Crowley asked, very calmly, popping the date into his mouth so he didn't have to think of anything else to say.

As far as he could tell, Jesus was just relieved that Crowley wasn't making snide remarks about otherworldly beings speaking to him. His shoulders relaxed slightly and he nodded. "It only happens sometimes. They, uh, want to see how I'm getting along." He gave his plate an inscrutable look. "There are expectations."

"Who was it this time?" Mary asked.

Jesus wrinkled his nose. "Gabriel. He only stayed for a few minutes, Mom."

Human beings ate at dinner and didn't just drink blessed wine, so Crowley picked up another date. Gabriel. Shit, shit, shit. And, technically, it was difficult for him to choke on food[1], but not actually impossible. Dates were not particularly appealing but they were on the table and no one was expected to make casual small talk while worrying away at a date.

Unfortunately this meant he had the second date in his mouth when Mary, well into her cup of wine, leaned over conspiratorially at him. She then said at an absolutely normal volume, "Between the two of us, the Archangel Gabriel's a total prick."

Jesus sighed. He murmured, "Mother."

"Don't _mother_ me," Mary said back. Neither of them noticed Crowley struggling not to choke on the date. She added, smiling, "This one, it's always _mom,_ until I say something embarrassing."

"You could never embarrass me."

And the way he said it you absolutely knew it to be true. But that was the case with everything he said. It was a neat trick, one Crowley wanted to study more, but at the moment he was trying to figure out how to swallow without coughing all over the table. He ended up panicking and briefly letting his throat go wonky so the date could fall down, half-chewed, into his stomach. Then he took a bracing breath in through parted lips. Just in case.

"It's just," Jesus said, absently tearing a piece off his bread, "not nice."

"He wasn't there, obviously, when Gabriel came," Mary said, waving him off. She had turned back to Crowley.

He had to say something. "What, this Monday?"

"No, before. I was here this last visit." Jesus's face was creased. He looked a bit skeptical. "Divine beings are … difficult to understand."

Mary snorted and looked into her cup, which was empty. Crowley picked up the jug of wine and obligingly refilled it for her. "Archangel Gabriel was the one to come down and tell me what was about to happen, before he was born."

"He did," Crowley said, glancing at Jesus.

Jesus gave him a small, _my life is very weird_ smile. None of this was going as planed. They had met three days ago. Crowley had just meant to see what all the fuss was about, really. Share a drink. He had never meant to end up invited to dinner but hadn't been able to figure out how to turn it down, so here he was. If he'd known that random visits from Heaven might figure in, he would've protested harder. He could just imagine how that would go.[2]

"He's a prick," Mary repeated, ignoring her son's wince. "Somebody comes down and tells you, Crowley, he goes, _You're about to deliver a child,_ and you explain rather plainly that that's impossible, given as you've never gotten about to the set-up-"

"Mother."

"-and he goes, _I don't see how that's relevant_ ," Mary said. She slammed her cup down on the table. It was empty again.

Crowley would have refilled it but was busy having a minor crisis over her imitation of Gabriel's voice, which was alarmingly spot-on from what he remembered. She even had the intonation down. It might explain why he and Jesus were just stuck staring at her. Especially since Jesus must have heard this story a thousand times already.

"I had to explain sex to an ethereal being!"

"I think this is more than Crowley is interested in hearing," Jesus said, tentatively.

"And then he says, _Excuse me, I have to go check with Head Office,_ and he vanishes." Mary threw both hands up. The ghost of the half-digested date in Crowley's stomach threatened to choke him again. "I waited half an hour for him to come back. Do you know how long half an hour is?"

Crowley glanced sidelong at Jesus, and then back at Mary. "It can be pretty long."

"Then he comes back and says, _Oh, the spirit of the Lord will take care of it,_ as if that explains anything." Mary huffed and refilled her own drink since neither of them had gotten around to it. "What would you do, Crowley, if an angel said, _oh, you're pregnant,_ and then had to be told what pregnancy was?"

People here had been variously reading him as one gender or another, recently. He wasn't sure whether Mary was asking him as a fellow human being or as someone who she thought could also potentially receive an announcement from the Archangel Gabriel. Though the mere thought of that made him wanted to drink still-blessed wine.

"I would probably run screaming from the room," he admitted. Or turn back into a snake from self-defense, not that he could say that.

Mary blinked and then laughed, leaning back in her seat. Her smile looked just like her son's. "I like you."

Crowley smiled back, closed-lipped.

"The host of angels must not all be the same," Jesus murmured. His slice of bread was in a crumble on his plate. He did sound a bit worried. Was that Doubt?[3] "Gabriel announced himself as an Archangel, there must be others. Not all men are the same after all."

"Yes," Crowley said, vaguely. "Maybe some of them give away their flaming swords instead of using them to smite things."

"Have you met one? An angel?" Mary said, giving him a sudden sharp look that was not intoxicated at all.

He put his cup back on the table without raising it to his mouth. It was disconcerting to think that the earthly mother of the son of God might be able to drink you under the table. "Just speculating."

"Hmm. I am of course devoted, but if you can manage it, Crowley, never speak to an Archangel."

It was really rather impressive that he said, "I'll do my best," instead of _nghk,_ which is what he wanted to say.

"This morning Crowley was telling me that I should visit China sometime, Mom," Jesus cut in, his voice only slightly tinged with desperation.

"Have you been there already?"

"Oh yes. Remarkable place."

***

The rest of dinner was mundane. Eventually Crowley extricated himself with vague promises to stop by at some point in the future and a short discussion about what one would actually pack to visit China. It started theoretical but by the end, Crowley had the distinct feeling that if he didn't leave town he was going to run into a young man with a bag slung over his shoulder within the next few days. He'd have to make an actual decision about that.

Jesus insisted on walking him to the end of the path.

Crowley paused before turning onto the main road. "Your mother is very nice," he said.[4]

"Yes." Jesus smiled, briefly, then looked back at the house. "I'm sorry you couldn't meet my father."

A bitterly intense panic gripped all of Crowley's ribs. The cold night air stirred his hair and made his robe swirl around his calves.

Jesus turned back to him, sighing. "He passed away recently."

The panic slaked off. Oh. That father. He felt a bit like miracling away his ribs out of spite but wasn't confident he could put them back later. He stopped breathing just to avoid the feeling of them expanding inside his chest. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"Mom is still torn up." Jesus fiddled with the tie on his robe. "I think that's why she got, uh. A little carried away tonight. I've tried being around more."

"Seems to me she thinks travel would be good for you." Now, why did he say that?

Jesus gave him another small smile. Funny, how all of these expressions felt like gifts. It sort of made a demon want to scream. "Maybe."

Goodnights exchanged, Crowley started walking. As soon as he was far enough along the road, he spent a minor miracle on turning himself invisible. It wouldn't last long but it would get him away from town. 

He turned and walked into the desert. As he moved he drew his scarf back slightly and squinted up at the night sky. The ribbon of the Milky Way hung above, stark and cold. It was the wrong hemisphere to see Alpha Centauri. The further he moved the colder the night got, the more the heat of the town and that quiet little home dropped away from him. He took off his sandals to slide barefoot against the sand.

It wasn't exactly _the thing_ to have curiosity projects, as a demon. Demons weren't supposed to be curious. That's absolutely not what Crowley was doing here. He was tempting. He was tempting Man. That was his whole schtick, wasn't it?

He breathed in starry night air and found a spot to lie down. It wasn't as comfortable as beds, he'd discovered, but even with nightfall the sand still radiated heat. Apparently he had a trip to China to plan. It would require miracling up some stuff. There would be arrangements to make.

And if anyone caught wind of it, he'd need an actual temptation to say he was after.

That the man he was tempting was Her own attempt to … what? be human? know humans? was entirely beside the point. What could She be after, anyway? Humans barely seemed to know Her at all.

Not that, Crowley thought, he should be one to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> [1]Normally he just swallowed it whole while no one was looking, then sipped something alcoholic and digested for a while.  [ return to text ]
> 
> [2]Something like: "This creature is the Serpent!" followed by, "Crowley's really been rather nice," and probably Mary cutting in with, "I only invited one of you to dinner." Crowley might end up discorporated just from the awkwardness.  [ return to text ]
> 
> [3]It is extremely difficult to maintain proper reverence when you know that the Archangel checking in on you _also_ received The Talk from your mother.  [ return to text ]
> 
> [4]A few short years later, he spotted Aziraphale in the crucifixion crowd mostly because he was trying to avoid her. She actually was nice, which was why Crowley thought she didn't need to see him again. [ return to text ]


End file.
